Perceived Realities
by Victoria LeRoux
Summary: He was fairly certain he didn't look bad enough to have even Maximoff looking at him with some degree of concern. Of course, that conjecture relied on the assumption that while she didn't mind him maimed a little, she didn't want him dead. It was entirely possible she was just concerned that he wasn't dead. / Tony goes through a window. Surprisingly, Wanda didn't throw him out.


Let's face it... this movie could have used some post-battle interaction between these two. Thanks to Tenebrielle for the beta, and Red Tigress for the encouragement. I, of course, edited more after Tenebrielle went through it, which means that any remaining mistakes are entirely my fault.

Apparently I forgot to put this up on here when I published on Ao3 about two months ago, so there's that. You can find me, as always, under the name of Meskeet! I tend to publish there a wee bit earlier.

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Perceived Realities

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There was something incredibly unpleasant about bleeding in the suit. It wasn't because Tony could feel the way the blood left his shirt damp and clinging to his back (which he could) or even because there was no way to tell exactly what was wrong without Jarvis - who was gone, at this point - or FRIDAY doing a scan. Although he could ask FRIDAY for a quick analysis, Tony thought it was best that he just not know until he was ready to patch himself back together.

Being thrown out of a window tended to be a good damper on his enthusiasm factor for the mission. It wasn't even supposed to be a mission, _just let's recruit this scientist before Hammer puts them to evil purposes_ , but said scientist had already signed on for evil purposes. Apparently, Tony showing up in their office and prodding through paperwork was enough to have her panic enough and throw him towards the nearest exit.

Nearest exit being through a window, nevermind the fact that he hadn't seen anything more important than her water bill. Next time he'd not be so nice about things.

"Take me home, FRIDAY," Tony said quietly. "Let's autopilot it back."

 _"Sure thing, boss,"_ was her response.

He relaxed as the suit adjusted direction of its own accord. If not for what he was pretty sure was glass digging into his back, he would have been able to take a nap. As it was, he just ground his teeth together and tried to ignore how he could feel blood trickling down his thigh. Maybe that was the worst thing about the suit: the fact that every time he bled, his socks ended up soaking wet.

When he landed on the flight pad, he almost tipped over when the suit began to disassemble. If anyone had been watching, Tony would have told them that he only stood to admire the view, rather than admit that he'd just been remembering how to get his legs to work correctly.

That was the thing about bloodloss. On the days where his injuries didn't hurt like the son of a bitch, it could easily sneak up and take him by surprise, leaving Tony stumbling along in an attempt to find a nice sofa to pass out on.

Or maybe not pass out. Pepper would kill him if she walked in and found him bleeding out on her expensive couch. Maybe he'd just lie down on the bathroom floor. Easier to mop up blood than to get it out of wood or carpet. Once Tony managed to get inside - luckily without falling off the building - he ignored the bar and went for the closest bathroom.

He made the mistake of trying to remove his shirt while he headed in that direction, and the brilliant, searing pain was enough to make Tony walk into a wall. Tony bounced off, and when he started to fall back despite his efforts, he resigned himself to hitting the ground. He'd had worse, he decided, but that didn't make it pleasant.

To his surprise, someone caught Tony on the way down. He furrowed his brow, trying to recognize the brown hair that swung into his vision. He followed the ends up, light brown fading to dark as the strands hit him in the face, and couldn't hide the surprise as red eyes stared back at him.

"This is awkward," he said automatically, not exactly exactly thrilled at the intrusion as he was lowered to the floor. "When did I give you a key?"

Once he'd been deposited gently onto the floor, Wanda Maximoff took a step back and crossed her arms, looking ridiculously defensive for someone that looked as though they'd been napping on his couch.

"Your guarddog let me in," the witch said, as her eyes faded to their normal color. Tony wondered if she was talking about Jarv- FRIDAY, or Happy. "It seems as though being an Avenger is enough to guarantee entry."

"Sounds about right," Tony said as he peered up at her. He didn't like being on the ground as she loomed over him, but he'd already fallen in front of her once. Better to not try and fail a second time. Maybe if he just sat here, this bloodloss inspired hallucination would leave him to his misery in peace.

Although… she surprisingly held out a hand to him, and when he stared at it to make sure it wasn't sparking with magic, the kid said, "I can return later, if you prefer."

There was an implicit offer in her voice that the superhero wasn't entirely sure he read correctly. It was enough to make him do a double take and check the hand again. People liked to say something about not looking gift horses in the mouth, but considering the horse had already bitten him once... Okay, maybe his metaphor fell apart right there. Still, his injuries probably would only get work over time without intervention and since curiosity did kill the cat... Tony reluctantly took her hand despite his suspicion this would prove to be some elaborate trap. Apparently not, because all Maximoff did was help him to his feet and stop him from falling right back over to the ground.

"Give me a time and a place, and I'll make sure I'm not here," Tony bit back belatedly, because keeping their relations workable but still biting was both easy and comfortable. It was easier to have people angry at him than worried, and he was fairly certain he didn't look bad enough to have even Maximoff looking at him with some degree of concern.

Of course, that conjecture was operating off the assumption that while she didn't mind him maimed a little, she didn't want him dead. It was entirely possible she was just concerned that he wasn't dead.

Tony cast her a suspicious glance as they started moving, but her face looked the same as ever: made a little tense by his presence, but mostly locked down. To his surprise, she bypassed the bathroom entirely and made for Dr. Cho's lab. Tony let her steer him, if only because he was worried that resisting would lead to a scuffle he'd probably lose.

Okay, most definitely lose. He wanted to keep some dignity, if only in his mind.

Maximoff was quiet as they walked, and it left him with a bit too much time to think. Rather than waffle between thoughts of his own stupidity and the blistering pain in his back, Tony asked, "What are you even doing in here?"

"I had a question," Maximoff replied slowly, as though that was supposed to clear things up.

Tony waited, but she didn't say anything else. At this point, the witch was pretty much just dragging him along beside her and he was just going along for the ride. He waited another couple steps, then said, "Going to ask it?"

"No."

Tony would take that abrupt response over the concerned eyeballing of earlier. When she dumped him - okay, maybe set him down, it just felt like dumping because he felt like every movement either opened up closed cuts or created new ones - on Dr. Cho's table, he let out a hissed breath of pain and then tensed when she pulled out an incredibly sharp looking knife that Natasha had probably given to her.

Maximoff walked behind him with the knife, and he thought it might count as a little insulting if he turned to keep her in sight. He glanced at her reflection in the glass, following that with his eyes as she said, "This may hurt."

That was something he wanted to hear when a lady with homicidal urges and Nazi-connections stood behind him. Tony started to turn his head, but she'd already started to slice his shirt at its seams.

"That's not bad at-" he started to say, and then let out a very heartfelt "shit" as she peeled the shirt away. He was pretty sure he lost a moment or two there, as the cloth was pulled off the wound. There was a tinkling sound as glass fragments dislodged and hit the ground.

"Sorry," she said, and Tony was too busy trying not to pass out to decide if she was sincere or not.

"Your bedside manner could use some work," he said, trying to keep his voice as even as possible as he gingerly slid off the remaining front part of his shirt. He'd treasure the small victory that was the moderate pitch of his voice. "Next time I'll just… go to a hospital or something. I think I just lost whatever skin was remaining."

"I have seen worse," she said, but didn't bother to hide her amusement.

"You know, I had a hole carved into my chest once and a giant magnet stuck in, but strangely the fact that I've had worse doesn't make it any better." Tony Stark decided to attempt his soon to be patented strategy of being annoying until all the concerned people - or in this case, Maximoff - went away. If he was irritating enough, she'd forget to be worried and just walk away angry. He'd be able to sulk in privacy and mess with Dr. Cho's machine until he got it to work for him.

"Whiskey or vodka?' Maximoff asked, ignoring his attempt at sparking _something_ out of her besides a dismissive attitude. That was okay. Cap and Widow did that too. At least she wasn't doing the _humor the crazy guy_ routine.

"If you're offering me a drink, I'll take both," Tony said.

She laughed, then. The noise surprised him, but didn't entirely freak him out because of the sound's hard edge. A genuine laugh would have left him running for the hills. "I don't mind you drinking, but I need to clean the wounds."

Tony made a little choked noise despite himself. "No…. just no. I'm perfectly fine with first world solutions, and Dr. Cho has nice 21st century medical supplies in the cabinet there. We can even tinker with her table and see if we can regenerate the tissue when we're done."

Maximoff made her way over to the cabinet he'd gestured at, and rummaged through it. She apparently knew what she was looking for, because she quickly piled some supplies in an empty tub and brought it back to him. Tony gave a quick glance as she walked, trying to make sure she wasn't about to enact some nebulous plan that would leave him bleeding out or poisoned or… or something, in the Tower. Granted, she could probably just take him out with her voodoo and it would be lights out, Tony Stark. Sue him if he wanted to pretend he kept some semblance of control and feeble resistance running.

Gauze, needle, tweezers, and some odds and end. Nothing particularly sinister, although he wasn't sure where the knife had gone.

He wasn't tracking entirely well, it seemed. He also wasn't sure that he hadn't actually died on the way out the window and this was some sort of probably well-deserved hell.

Maximoff dropped the tub down onto the table, and Tony winced as there was the cold feel of metal against his flesh. As she pulled glass free with the tweezers, he started to speak again, keeping his eyes on her reflection in the glass. "So, really, what did you come here for? I mean, great timing and all considering I probably would have just passed out until some qualified medical professional showed up, but we do have laws against breaking and entering here."

"Agent Romanov had us do a training exercise last night. She wished for me to show the team what a psychic attack felt like."

Well… that sounded exactly like Natasha. Tough love, and all that, with emphasis on the tough. Tony wasn't sure if his grimace was from a piece of glass being plucked from his scrapes or- " _you could have saved us."_ Tony stiffened at the memory of his dying team and then glared at the faded Maximoff in the glass. Was that from her? Was she trying to manipulate him again? Apparently not, because she finally said:

"Your War Machine saw you staggering through the desert sand, choking on your own exhaustion and falling to the ground."

Tony blinked at the sentence, and for a moment the only sound was the tinkle of glass as she dropped a few more pieces into a small container. Maybe he owed Rhodey a big sandwich when he saw him next. Out of all the shit Tony had put him through - especially after the fiasco where Tony had been dying or the time they saved the President or the time Tony was attacked by a terrorist and presumed dead or the time Rhodey watched him carry a nuke through a wormhole on TV or - well, Tony would have thought Afghanistan would be an after thought in Rhodey's mind.

"That's where I got this," Tony said, tapping his chest where the reactor used to be. It still felt strange to feel flesh where magnet used to be. "The reactor, not the scars."

"And you became the Iron Man," Wanda didn't seem to be talking to him, not anymore. She sounded… thoughtful, that's all. As though she had been trying to figure something out and the pieces were falling into place. "Rhodes brought you back across the water. You no longer produced weapons for the government."

"What's this, 60 Minutes? You can probably find _that_ interview online. They like to rerun it whenever I do something newsworthy," Tony asked her, and the _chink chink chink_ of dropping glass paused for a moment. Perhaps she'd forgotten that he was there, perhaps she'd been merely musing to herself rather than asking for his opinion. Tony could have told her that better people had tried and failed to create an accurate picture of hims. Most of them ended up dead, no matter whose side they'd been on - one way or another, the blame tended to lay with him. "But really, how does this translate to showing up at my tower?"

Wanda didn't warn him for the unpleasant sensation of a shot that immediately began to numb his lower back, and Tony almost jerked as she actually patted him on the shoulder in some sort of obviously feigned sympathy. "Ultron's heart was not entirely like a human's. It looks like a reactor," her words formed slowly and deliberately. "And he feared its loss, just as you feared the loss of yours. But… you've moved beyond that fear. Even after it had been pried from your chest and you nearly died from its loss, you learned to live without your battery. I will not forget that you killed my parents - I could not, if I wanted to. Yet, you have changed from the man you used to be. Rhodes doesn't just fear losing you in the desert - but he hates himself for being relieved that it changed you."

Tony opened his mouth, and shut it when he felt the distinctive sensation of a needle tugging at his skin. He… hadn't quite expected that. Actually, he would be more prepared to believe she'd just shot him up with something incredibly unpleasant and permanent than the fact that she came here to drag up Stane and Afghanistan and Rhodey's probably really convoluted feelings. Tony might have even preferred some freaky vision, given the chance. At least those could be disproved.

"You are not helping the freaky little witch image," Tony said automatically, and was pretty sure the next stitch was pulled tight a little harder than necessary.

"I misjudged you," Maximoff said, and Tony felt the prick of the needle again. His eyes watered slightly, but he wasn't about to ask for her to numb things even more. "I misjudged you, and that is why Ultron attempted to destroy humanity rather than just the Avengers. I had not realized Rhodes cared that strongly about you, and I trust his opinion. Surprisingly enough, you actually care about the world. You wanted world peace, not just protection from threats."

"I don't see how wanting peace-"

"Life - not just humans - creates war and destruction. If you simply want the earth protected, Ultron would have merely tried to kill you. But you want the world _peaceful_ and for there to be no conflict-"

"Are you saying that because I actually cared about the world, I nearly caused global extinction?"

"Because you care, _I_ nearly caused global extinction," she corrected. "As I said, I misjudged you. It will not happen again."

Either he was paranoid, or that sounded like some kind of a threat. The sensation of needle tugging flesh halted, and there was a clatter as she placed tools on the table. Everything around him was…. woozy. That was the word for it. Distorted around the edges as various colors blurred and bled into one another and his balance wavered. Maximoff grasped his shoulder, helping to keep him upright and stationary. "Can we agree never to speak about this again?"

There was a long silence, the kind that makes it hard to breathe when it's obvious something is coming that Tony wasn't going to like. Something dabbed down his back, cold and stinging that caused a fresh wave of exhausted adrenaline to steady him.

"I am sorry," Wanda said quietly. "For what it's worth."

Something stung over his cuts again and Tony cursed despite himself. Starks don't show weakness, good old Dad had told him, but something like this - harsh, biting, blinding, unexpected - could warrant as an exception in Tony's book. It was cursing or crying, and it was far easier to let the words tumble from his lips as they had done for a lifetime.

"What were we talking about again?" Tony asked, because everything was bright spots and growing darkness. Maybe he'd finally reached his limit, maybe there had been more than just a numbing agent in that shot of hers, maybe if he turned around she'd be doing her Exorcist impression on him.

He was moving, time skipping and pausing in odd bursts. Wanda had helped him to his feet, and somehow they'd got to the door. They made it to the end of the floor, where a couch had been shoved against the wall during one of Tony's redecorating phases. He'd intended to do something with it, but couldn't quite remember, and laying his tired, bruised body down on the couch seemed as good a use as any.

"I will come back when you recover," Maximoff told him, and there was something interesting that curled around her voice. Tony would have to think about that later, think about that way she seemed sad and solemn and the promise her words held.

Recovering sounded nice. He was glad they had come to that understanding - and maybe another sort of understanding, at the same time.

He'd think about it when he was conscious again.

"For what it's worth," he said quietly, laying facedown on the couch with his head on his arm. Maybe it was the exhaustion clinging to him, maybe it was the harsh pain threading up and down his body, maybe it was the way that Maximoff seemed like that broken window: all glass, fragile and sharp and bitter and waiting for someone to be kicked through the window. Probably it wasn't the last thing. That was probably just Tony projecting. "I'm sorry too."

He opened his eyes, but she was already gone - the sound of her footsteps conspicuously absent after he went to all that effort to force those words out. Tony had imagined the whole thing, maybe, let the entire experience be some sort of imagined hell while Dr. Cho had worked her magic. Maybe he'd just walked to the couch and passed out of his own accord.

The arm he wasn't laying on twisted, found rough stitches on his still sore back. Not a hallucination, then. He wasn't sure if that was a good or a bad thing. Tony would make some calls, check some security cams in the morning. For now…

"Jarvis, secure the Tower. No one in or out up here."

"Yes, boss," FRIDAY answered him quietly.

"Good old FRIDAY," he mumbled. "I'll get it right e'ntually."

Not now. In the morning, maybe. For now, he just needed to sleep.

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If you enjoyed the Wanda/Tony dynamic in this fic, I'm in the process of writing a Big Bang with the two of them (and Sam) along with Red Tigress. Please consider leaving some feedback!


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